


The Plague

by TheWriterintheCafeCorner



Category: Moominvalley (Cartoon 2019), Mumintroll | Moomins Series - Tove Jansson
Genre: Dialogue, Dysfunctional Relationships, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Hunting, Language, M/M, Possesive, Verbal Abuse, Verbal Humiliation, Violence, obsessive - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-22
Updated: 2020-02-04
Packaged: 2020-09-24 03:16:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20351485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWriterintheCafeCorner/pseuds/TheWriterintheCafeCorner
Summary: "There's a man in the woods..."





	1. Waltz

As the crescent moon rose, a nameless villa in the mountains fell.

Where cobblestone stores and homes once stood there was now only ash and soot. The blanket of snow that covered the ground was now gray and sodden. The screams that had permeated the evening had silenced. All that could be heard was the whistling wind weaving in and out of the ruins.

Accompanying the wind was one stranger in black, playing a delightful tune on the fiddle. As he walked among the dead, there was a spring to his step and an insurmountable giddiness in his heart. As he waltz along, he never faltered. His movements were graceful and languid, with only himself as an audience and the fiddle his partner. 

As the stranger neared the edge of the villa, the last note of his gay tune fading, he gave a hum of pleasure. With the return of solemn quiet, the performance comes to an end and the stranger makes his departure. 

It would be weeks before someone stumbled upon the remains of the villa.

It would be months before the cycle begins anew.


	2. Hunt

The woods grew close together the further one goes. To those unfamiliar with these parts, it would seem alien, foreign. To someone like Moomin, who grew up exploring and playing within its’ brush, it was like visiting a home away from home. It was comforting knowing there were plenty of places to hide in. 

That is if someone doesn’t know where to look.

Moomin stopped mid-sprint. His ears flicked, listening intently to his surroundings. A moment or two passed before he heard branches snapping to his right. He was off once more, keeping low to the ground and light on his feet. Through trial and error he learned how to maneuver around twigs, branches, leaves, and whatever else littered the forest floor. After the troll had mastered that, then came the new challenge on how to handle the prey itself. 

Moomin shook those memories from his mind. That was a whole other mess and one he was especially glad to have figured out. 

As for the one right now…

The troll came to yet another stop, crouching low. Just over the log he could see the creature. It was on high alert, standing straight. It’s long ears were perked, chest moving up and down rapidly. It didn’t move its’ head, but Moomin could see its’ eyes jerking around, picking up on something the troll couldn’t.

Then he did.

Moomin, without taking his eyes of his target, could hear in the distance the sound of someone playing a fiddle. Had it been any other time this would have peaked his interest. As of now though, the fiddler was far enough away for the troll to finish up here without drawing attention. 

The last thing Moomin needed was word getting back to his parents about his time in the woods.

With ease, the prey was snatched by the neck. Before it could let out a scream it was dead. The fiddler was getting closer, but Moomin paid no mind to them. The hunt had paid off and the troll did away with manners as he ravaged his prize.

It was when Moomin was half way though the meal that he noticed the sudden silence. He halted, teeth still sunk into the animal. Slowly, he removed the carcass from his mouth and turned around. There was a vague thought, probably how he looked a mess. 

The one before him was indeed the one playing the fiddle. They held it at their side with presumably relaxed ease. The stranger was dressed head to toe in black except for the yellow scarf around their neck. The wide brim of the hat hid the person’s face from view, but what little could be seen seemed attentive. A cold dark eye was indicative of that, never leaving the troll’s face. 

Moomin, after what felt like an eternity, slowly got to his feet. He felt the prey slip from his hands, but he ignored it. He kept his attention on the stranger in black, even as he wiped the mess from his mouth. 

The stranger suddenly burst into laughter. Moomin, startled, thought if sandpaper had a sound this would be it. It sent a shiver down his spine.

When the stranger had collected himself, he looked the troll over in amusement. “Well then,” he said, “this is turning out to be an interesting day.”


	3. Goading

Moomin bristled with annoyance at the comment. He felt his face burn as a wave of shame washed over him suddenly. He had allowed his eagerness for the hunt to override caution and now he was caught. 

The stranger’s smile fell from his face as he watched the troll turn away from him. He expected the troll to run off, given the angered look he recieved. When the troll didn’t, the stranger felt some of his excitement return. Perhaps, given that the cycle wouldn’t start just yet, he could have some fun with the troll. 

The stranger turned his attention on the dead animal. 

Moomin felt something lightly tap the middle of his back. When he turned around, the stranger pointed to the animal. 

“You going to finish this?” the stranger asked, nonchalantly.

Moomin blinked, taken aback. “No,” he answered flatly. 

The stranger grinned a toothy grin before unhinging his jaw and eating what was left, bones and all. Moomin recoiled, mostly because flakes of bone were sent flying. The troll felt the initial uneasiness at being caught flood away and a small smile tug at the corner of his mouth.

When the creature in black finished, he looked back at Moomin. “No need for good meat to go to waste,” he said, as if it were the most mundane thing. 

Moomin found himself snorting. He was grinning fully. “I suppose not. If I had known company would be dropping in I’d have snatched up another.”

The stranger waved him off. “Don’t fret. I rather like the sound of bone crunching.” 

“If you say so. I’m Moomin by the way.” Moomin held out a hand.

“Pleasure to meet you Moomin. Snufkin’s the name.” Snufkin held out his own hand, fur just as black as the rest of his outfit. He had a hard grip around Moomin’s, but Moomin didn’t find it painful. There was the tiniest indication of sharp nails, but he didn’t mind that either. The troll was accustomed to sharp nails digging into him. 

Moomin shook Snufkin’s hand firmly. 

When the two finally let go, Snufkin asked, rather coolly, “I assume you live around here?”

“No.”

Snufkin’s brow creased, somewhat irritated. “You mean to say there isn’t a town close by at all?” Snufkin was beginning to think there wasn’t anything out here after scouring the area for almost a month. Before he saw Moomin, Snufkin was about to reconsider his options about where to go next. The next cycle wasn’t that far off when he got down to it. 

Moomin shrugged, Snufkin recognizing a bored expression from anywhere.“I’d hardly call it that. It’s a small valley with an even smaller number of people. But yes, it’s quite a ways off.”

Snufkin went quiet. Thankfully, the cycle wasn’t as specific when it comes to the number of people. It was quite fortunate he ran into Moomin when he did. His gaze leering, he asked, “Good to know. And if I were to make camp right where we’re standing?”

Moomin gestured around. “Pick any spot you want. Hardly anyone comes out this way.”

Snufkin smirked. “Ah but you’re here.”

“I did say hardly anyone.”

“Does anyone know you’re out here?” Snufkin felt pleased when he saw the other fidget subtly from foot to foot. His presence had no effect on Moomin, but his words were certainly enough to set him on edge.

Moomin hesitated. He felt a smidgen of annoyance coming back as well as nervousness. The realization that he never tells anyone where he’s going was now producing some concerning possibilities. 

“That’s a no then,” Snufkin said. He kept his tone playful, but his gaze had a look that Moomin couldn’t quite read. 

Moomin huffed, unperturbed. “I didn’t say that.”

Snufkin stretched, feigning disinterest.“You didn’t have too. Your silence gave you away like a whore in a confession stand.” He had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep himself from laughing at the other’s reaction. 

Moomin sputtered. “What are you, some kind of presumptuous ass?” If Snufkin was going to be rude then so was he. 

Snufkin grinned. It was a vicious sight. “Yes.”

Moomin scowled. “You’re rude.”

Snufkin barked out a harsh laugh. “And the sky is blue. No sense in stating the obvious.” 

Moomin glowered. Snufkin raised a brow, waiting. Moomin thought about what to say to that, trying to think what could get under the other’s skin.

And then it did hit him.

The troll, straightening, said in an off handed tone,“Well guess what? I’m a liar.”

Snufkin blinked. Not what he was expecting. “Oh? What did you lie about?” 

“There is somebody else that regularly comes up here.”

Snufkin tilted his head to the side. What the hell, he’ll amuse the troll. “Don’t keep me waiting.”

“We have a police inspector that comes up here to check for trouble makers.” Moomin said, smiling crudely. He turned and began walking away when he saw Snufkin’s face fall grim, waving goodbye. “Got to go now! Bye!” 

Moomin didn’t get far before he felt an arm slide around his waist. He couldn’t help but let out a soft gasp when Snufkin pressed the troll tightly against him, claws tapping against white fur. Moomin hadn’t realize that the hand he was waving goodbye with was still raised until Snufkin’s own closed around his wrist. Gently, Snufkin lowered it and turned Moomin’s face to meet his gaze. 

Bemused, Snufkin said, “Why don’t you introduce me? We wouldn’t want to be rude after all.” 

Moomin smiled. Under any other circumstance it could have been sweet. “No, we wouldn’t want to be.”


	4. Ignite

The police inspector’s head throbbed as he listened to an irate Mrs. Fillyjonk. The weasel of a woman had barged in and and began lambasting him with, well, he wasn’t sure what. The woman had been spewing nonsense nonstop for the last fifteen minutes. 

“Mrs. Fillyjonk, you need to slow down. I can’t understand a word you’re saying,” the police inspector said, rather loudly and quickly. When she went quiet, he said, “Now, start from the beginning and slowly please.” 

Mrs. Fillyjonk bent down and began shuffling through a knapsack. Back when he was a rookie the police inspector would have mentally kicked himself for overlooking that detail. He waited with thinning patience for the other to find what she was looking for. When she did, she stood up so quickly her back cracked. The police inspector winced. 

Mrs. Fillyjonk, with a disgruntled grunt, threw a shrubbery, it’s roots included, onto the desk. 

The police inspector only stared.

Mrs. Fillyjonk, “This is my problem, good sir.”

Police inspector slowly inhaled. Yep, he had a fully realized headache now. “What is this about Mrs. Fillyjonk?”

“One of my shrubberies.”

“Yes, I can see that. Why is your shrubbery on my desk?”

“To show you what those heathens did to it.”

The police inspector pinched the bridge of his nose. “Who are these heathens and what exactly did they do?”

Mrs. Fillyjonk gestured violently to the bush. “They’ve been eating my garden up for the last two weeks!”

“Again, I stress who.”

“I don’t know! I just know that every night I’ve been hearing noises, go check, see no one there, and in the morning I find that someone has been eating my garden!”

“Alright, alright, please calm down.” The police inspector rubbed his temples. “Do you think it’s a possibility that it’s an animal?”

Mrs. Fillyjonk didn’t answer. 

The police inspector sighed. “I’ll send word to the groundskeeper and see if he can find out whose been eating your produce.”

“Garden,” Mrs. Fillyjonk corrected, sniffing.

“Right. I’m sure he’ll be able to recognize what made these teeth marks.” She won’t leave if he didn’t give her that much.

Mrs. Fillyjonk nodded. “Thank you.” She goes to leave but stops at the door. She looks over her shoulder, adding, “I also saw that Moomin boy heading into the woods again.”

The police inspector did away with professionalism as he groaned. “Mrs. Fillyjonk, we’ve been over this.”

“I just don’t think it’s a good idea for a young boy to be alone in the woods. Who knows what kind of beasts are out there.”

“The groundskeeper?”

“Aside from him.”

The police inspector had to agree. The residents of the valley were mindful of their surroundings and even more so of the woods nearby. A close knit community as small as theirs generally don’t pry into another’s affairs, but…

“Your concern is much appreciated. However, it isn’t needed. The boy is resourceful and thoughtful. Why, just last week he was helping around the station. Though, I felt a tad sorry for including him. There isn’t much to do around the station.” It was a rare occurrence when the police were actually needed. The worse it got was when Mrs. Fillyjonk got into a dispute with the Moomin family about the level of cleanliness Mrs. Moomin’s bed sheets were.

Mrs. Fillyjonk gave another sniff. “Very well then. Good day to you.” She left, letting the door slam shut behind her.

The police inspector reclined in his chair, staring up at the ceiling. Finally, some long awaited reprieve. It was unfair to think, but Mrs. Fillyjonk makes it her mission to make it so. The police inspector is convinced she does anyways.

The official looked at the abandoned brush on his desk. Something had certainly enjoyed munching away at it, that much was true. For a split second he thought about discarding it into the waste basket. He did away with the thought though. He was much too conditioned in his line of work to do something of the sort. 

The police inspector got to his feet and headed to the door. He’ll make a note to call up the groundskeeper tomorrow after taking a break. 

A break from what? Sitting and dealing with animals nibbling on people’s bushes? When an argument breaks out over property lines? Or how about when that Mr. Hemulan believed wholeheartedly that someone stole his stamp collection when he really just misplaced them in his sock drawer? 

The police inspector stood outside and surveyed the front. He could gripe about the lack of activity all day (perhaps even into the night), or he could go for a walk and make sure things are in order (still).

The walk sounds more pleasant. 

…

Moomin and Snufkin arrived at the station. 

The two had walked along in silence. Moomin didn’t want to talk, focusing on leading them in the right direction. Snufkin had taken the silence as a good time to memorize the route. Even the tiniest details could tell one where they were and Snufkin of all people knew how important this was. 

When they arrived, Snufkin took one look at the station and deduce that it couldn’t really be called one. It was more of a hut, single floor, and much too small to have more then two or three officials inside at a time. 

When he asked, Moomin confirmed it with a nod. “There’s two; a chief and an officer. Though, he’s really more of an inspector.” The troll frowned.

Snufkin, taking notice, asked, “What’s wrong?”

Moomin pointed just a little ways away from the hut. “Mrs. Fillyjonk is inside right now.”

Snufkin followed where Moomin was pointing. At the end of the path was a small group of children. They were reddish-brown, wore matching red coats and pointed hats, and had the face of a drowned ferret. They stood in a single file. They didn’t move nor made a sound. 

How dull, Snufkin thought. He turned to Moomin. “I wager you know this Mrs. Fillyjonk?”

Moomin nodded. “She’s more or less my family’s neighbor. She’s a real thorn in the side.”

Snufkin pondered this. “Why not have a bit of fun with her too? What’s the saying? Two birds with one stone?”

Moomin snickered. “Later. I don’t want her kids seeing it.”

He’s certainly fun to play with. I’ll have to savor it while I can. Snufkin took in the area. Not only was the property just a bit bigger then the station, there was also a fence surrounding it. Moomin motioned for Snufkin to stay put. 

Moomin walked to the front, stopping in front of the kids. They looked at him, but didn’t show signs of interest.

Moomin smiled. “Hey guys. Where’s your mother?”

One of them pointed in the direction of the station. From inside they could hear Mrs. Fillyjonk screaming about something. Moomin could only pick up on destroyed, bushes, and a word he was forbidden from ever speaking or thinking.

From the sounds of it, it’ll be a while.

Which was fine. 

Moomin nodded. “I see. Say, why don’t you head over to my folk’s home. Mama will have made some pancakes and strawberry jam. Doesn’t that sound nice?” 

The kids looked to one another with a mixture of uncertainty and temptation. They looked between Moomin and the station.

Moomin nodded reassuringly. “Don’t worry. I’ll let your mother know. I promise.” He crossed his heart for further emphases.

That was all it took. The kids took off for Moominhouse. It wasn’t a lie. Moominmamma would have just made breakfast. Both of his parents had stressed to him the importance of routine and complacency. 

Moomin watched them hurry away. It was mildly amusing at how easy it was to get kids to do anything for a reward. He turned around to beckon Snufkin over, only to find that the other boy was already in front of him. The troll took a step back.

Snufkin crossed his arms behind his back, looking over the yard. He made his way over to the gate, which was flung open. A sign on the front read: CAUTION! Fence is electric!

Snufkin, reading it, said, “Is it, really?”

Moomin shrugged. “It used to be. They put it up to discourage any crime activity some years ago, but due to nothing of the sort happening they shut it down. I guess they kept the sign up as a front.”

Snufkin tapped his chin thoughtfully. “Doesn’t matter. I’ve a better idea.” 

…

A couple of things are worth noting.

One, oil, when improperly contained, is highly flammable.

Two, handling a knife requires skilled hands. 

…

Snufkin and Moomin waited until they heard Mrs. Fillyjonk leave, cursing at how her kids must be at that blasted Moominhouse (Moomin gritted his teeth, but kept mute). they waited a couple of minutes for the police inspector to follow. When they were positive that the station was clear, they reappeared from the woods.

Moomin walked up to the door and opened it, casually walking inside. Snufkin followed closely behind. The troll stood beside the other, waiting. 

Snufkin walked over to the desk. Aside from the bush there wasn’t anything of note. He hummed, pondered, and slowly withdrew something from his side. It had a golden handle, fitting perfectly in Snufkin’s hand. Even in the dim lighting, Moomin recognized that it was a knife by the glint of it’s long, silver blade. The troll watched silently as the other, without hesitation, sliced his palm open. 

Snufkin didn’t so much as hissed when he slid the blade across his palm. The area was stitched and healed before the cut was finished. He waited for the blood to absorb before holding it by its’ blade. Soon enough, runes were etched into the handle.

Moomin’s gasp brought Snufkin out of his concentration. He looked up to see the troll staring at the knife not in disgust or horror, but genuine fascination. There was a kind of glee in those blue eyes that Snufkin himself has felt many times. 

Cute, Snufkin thought genuinely. In the dark, he allowed himself to smile gently.

Moomin, tentatively, touched the handle. “What does this mean?” 

“It says: Light the lamp.” 

“Oh. That’s it?”

Snufkin handed Moomin the knife without much thought. He began searching the desk. “I don’t need everything spelt out for me.”

Moomin looked the knife over. The runes were gone, leaving the handle smooth. Though it appeared normal, Moomin found that it was rather pretty in its’ simplicity. He supposed that if it could spell out what one was to do, it didn’t need a complicated design. 

Snufkin stood, finding the oil lamp. Setting it down on the desk’s top, he fished around in his pockets. Finding his box of matches, he proceeded to light one and then the lamp. He waited, but saw that the fire was contained. He frowned.

What else was there?

Something prickled against his skin. Snufkin saw that it was the bush that Moomin had shoved into his face. 

Moomin grinned. “This makes for a nice bonfire.”

Snufkin couldn’t agree more. Without waiting another moment, he took the bush and lit the ends of it with the lamp. Flames sprung to life and began burning the brush almost immediately. 

Snufkin tossed it away towards the back. The two watched as from the flames grew larger and larger, crackling and snapping as it did. Already, a corner of the station was engulfed in fire and smoke was filling up the room. 

It was time to go.

As the two hurried over to the door, Moomin rushing out, Snufkin turned back. He surveyed the increasing damage and chucked the lamp in. He ran after Moomin, glass shattering and smoke clinging to his clothes.

…

Snufkin found Moomin deep in the thicket, waiting for him in a clearing by a couple of tree stumps. Almost instantly, the troll had grabbed him and the two danced a haphazard dance. Moomin’s laughter was all encompassing while at the same time light and warm. 

Snufkin was surprised to find himself laughing along with Moomin. 

When the two finally came to a stop, Moomin let go and stepped away. “You sure know how to show someone a good time.”

Snufkin adjusted himself, watching the other spin away from him and laughing more to himself now. Snufkin didn’t say anything, but the corners of his mouth twitched. It was exhilarating, setting that fire. 

Moomin came to a stand still. “I almost forgot!” He went over to one of the tree stumps. When he turned and walked back over, Snufkin saw that the troll was holding the knife. 

Snufkin’s breath caught in his throat. How could he have forgotten something so important? Anger bubbled in his chest. He was never this sloppy until-

The thought was squashed before it was finished as Moomin handed him the knife. The troll held it by its’ blade so that Snufkin could take it by the handle. Snufkin felt that anger be replaced with…what? Gratitude? 

Snufkin reached out. “I thought you’d have left it in that squander of a station?”

Moomin, perplexed. “It’s not mine and how often does one come across a knife like yours?”

Snufkin smirked. “Very rarely.” He gripped the knife’s handle-

And the blade slit Moomin’s palm.

Moomin’s cry was short but very much pained. He stumbled back, hunched over and gripping his bleeding hand. It felt like his hand was on fire, worse then the time he touched the stove when it was on. He didn’t care that tears ran down his face as he slowly lifted his hand to inspect it. He watched the slit skin being pulled and sewn back together, the pain ebbing away. The blood remained after it was done, but the pain diminished. 

Moomin stood up and looked to Snufkin.

Snufkin had watched Moomin cry out before looking to the knife. He remembered the first time he felt the blade slice his skin and knew the same was happening to the troll. Snufkin hadn’t meant to cut him but now that he did, he was intrigued to see what message would be inscribed onto the handle. 

Snufkin didn’t have to wait long.

As usual, the runes were etched onto the handle with precise precision. When finished, Snufkin read what it had to say. He frowned. His brow furrowed, confused and for once mystified at what the message could mean. 

“Snufkin?”

Snufkin returned the knife to his side. “What?”

Moomin contemplated. “What…did it say?”

Snufkin didn’t answer the question. He walked over to where Moomin stood. Moomin tried to back away but Snufkin wouldn’t let him. He pulled the troll into what could be described as an embrace and kept him there.

Moomin went very still. He wasn’t even sure if he was breathing. Then Snufkin’s voice was right beside his ear, low and commanding. 

“Go home. Now. Don’t stop for anybody or anything.”

Moomin felt the world slip away. 

Snufkin felt Moomin stiffen before withdrawing from his arms. He watched as the troll wondered into the woods, footsteps fading away, back to where ever it is he lives. 

Snufkin turned on his heels and went in the opposite direction. As he walked through the woods, he took the knife out and looked it over.

The runes were still there.

…

The police inspector stood where the station once was. Nothing remained except for the scorched earth and the charred frame of the doorway. 

The chief of police is going to have his head.

The police inspector was beside himself with joy.

Finally, a case that he can crack.


	5. Funeral

Alicia’s grandmother was dead for some time now. The air was turning stale within their little cabin. 

Since her grandmother’s passing, Alicia had been hard at work. Despite her young age, she was well versed in funeral preparations. Once the ritual was over, only then will Alicia allow herself to mourn her elder’s passing. 

Alicia’s grandmother had raised the young girl to be knowledgeable, especially towards the use of magic. These lessons included recognizing the type of spells used, how to counteract it, how to properly brew potions, what herbs had healing abilities, and how to conduct dark magic. Out of all these topics, Alicia thought herself well versed in the last one. 

As Alicia tightened the linens that were folded around her grandmother, she thought back to the last real conversation they had. 

The two of them were sitting outside in old wicker chairs. Alicia had been reading one of the spell books while her grandmother brushed her hair. It was growing colder by the day. Dark, gray clouds loomed over the mountains’ crown, promising a long and unforgiving winter. Alicia pulled her cloak tighter as a particularly nasty wind nipped at the two of them.

Alicia’s grandmother ceased her brushing. She took in the sky’s gloomy weather, her hair catching in the wind. Alicia took notice of this and looked to the older witch. With her hair undone and blowing in the wind, Alicia thought her grandmother looked young and wild again despite her aged face. 

“I am going to die,” her grandmother had said. There was no remorse, no regret or fear in saying something most would avoid thinking about.

Alicia wasn’t taken aback either. “When?”

“Early this coming spring.” 

Alicia turned back to the book. “Shall I get started on the preparations tonight?” 

“No, not tonight. Still too early,” her grandmother corrected, not unkindly. There was some hint of pride Alicia heard in her grandmother’s response. 

Alicia, for a rare moment, felt her heart warm. 

The older witch fumbled around under her collar. “Alicia, my dear…”

Alicia looked back up.

Her grandmother removed something from around her neck. She held it out to the girl with a steady hand. When Alicia reached over, her grandmother released it into Alicia’s possession. 

Alicia looked. In her hand rested a red, oval shaped jewel. The young girl brought it closer to her and inspected it more thoroughly. It was completely smooth, flawless as one would describe it, and was red like blood. Alicia felt a steady, beating pulse at its’ center and it radiated warmth that could easily burn if it so chooses. 

Alicia looked to her grandmother expectantly. The elder witch wasted no time in explaining.

“It’s a sacred heirloom, one that’s been past down for millennium. Our family’s lineage, our history, is contained within its’ center. You can feel it can’t you?”

Alicia nodded, but didn’t answer.

Her grandmother went on. “When a member of our family dies, the successor makes preparations to bond their soul to it. So that if the descendants need assistance they have the means to summon the ancestor they need.”

Alicia realized where this was heading. “What happens should the one overseeing the ritual fail?”

“The ritual will rot much like the decease and backfire onto the overseer. The overseer will then face life as a rotting corpse until nothing but their bones’ ashes remain and their soul disintegrates.”

Alicia fell silent for a short while. “A terrible fate, but one fitting for a fool,” she answered curtly. “You need not worry, grandmother. The ritual will be successful." 

The lessons that followed had been gruelling, but worth it. Alicia was determined in getting the funeral ritual right. She had no intentions of spending her life a decaying ghoul or to send her grandmother into an afterlife detached from their family.

Thus, here she was; the candles lit, her grandmother lying all snug and tight in her funeral shroud. Alicia was glad they lived out in the dense woodlands, far from any nosy neighbors. The ritual called for privacy. 

Alicia approached the funeral pyre. She had taken great care in twisting and essentially knitting the branches and brindle together. Even through the linens, the younger witch could make out her grandmother’s crossed arms. Gently, as though the older witch still lived, Alicia lifted her head and draped the jewel necklace around her neck. The jewel rested on her chest and seemed to burn like fire. 

Alicia stood back, assessing her handiwork. Before anything, the body was to be dissected of its’ organs. These were to be consumed by the next successor as they contained the nourishment and knowledge from the former head. Afterwards, the ritual had specified that the body be pickled in a barrel for three days and three nights so as to preserve it. During this time period, the successor was to gather kindling from the wood and make a death bed. Not before making a stone bed mind you. This would assist in burning the body after all. Once this was completed, the successor was to place the body upon it, spending one additional day keeping it company. Come that very night, the pyre would be lit, the body burned, and the soul bonded with the heirloom. 

The burning was to last the entire night. If the weather proved to be a problem then the successor is to cast spells to ward off nature’s meddling. Should all go according to the ritual, the pyre will leave nothing behind but the jewel necklace. 

As it was, Alicia had followed every step without hesitation. As for the weather conditions, the Fates had deemed it that her grandmother’s funeral and Alicia’s succession to be successful. There wasn’t an interference of any kind as she lit her grandmother’s final resting place ablaze. 

As the first rays of dawn peaked over the mountains and through the woods, the pyre was gone. Alicia was now alone with nothing but the memory of her last known family member. As the young witch approached the remnants, there on the earth’s untouched ground was the jewel necklace. 

It truly looked like it was on fire as Alicia notice the subtle, flickering flames within its’ center. As Alicia picked it up and held it at eye level, the flame engulfed the jewels’ inside, temporarily replacing its’ red hue with a vivid orange. As quickly as it came to life, it died back down. 

Alicia hung it around her neck and immediately felt at ease. She stood there, for once unsure of what to do now that she only had herself to attend to. She had decided to head inside when she felt a sudden spark of energy somewhere in the woods.

It moved with purpose and promised chaos. 

…

The woodlands were eerily quiet as Snufkin trudged his way through. Birds had ceased their singing, crickets stopped chirping, winds were muted, and the air grew thick with tension. 

Snufkin ignored all this. As he came upon another clearing, this time devoid of life, he stopped. He looked back, eyes narrowing.

The world remained quiet.

Snufkin made his way to the center. Of course nobody had followed him. There wasn’t a creature stupid enough to do so. Well, except for Moomin, but Snufkin didn’t count him. The troll shared his interest in anarchy or, at the very least, arson. Snufkin, despite himself, had liked having the troll around. 

Speaking of whom, Snufkin brandished the knife once more. The runes were still visible. Snufkin was beginning to think that the runes were permanent, but did away with the thought. 

Typically, the knife would relay the message, whether it be the fate of the individual or instructions on what to do. This, however, was a chaotic mess of different inscriptions. Runes overlapped each other, making it difficult to read and understand. 

Snufkin growled. It was all so frustrating! Snufkin would travel around looking for small towns and slowly tempt its’ residents into being corrupted willfully. He has done this time and time again, crafting and honing this technique. The spirits had overseen to that, offering praise after each successful turn and he had been content. 

So how did this Moomin managed to get under his skin after just one meeting? 

Snufkin, sighing, grazed a thumb over the inscribed handle. It wasn’t…unpleasant he decided. It was fun, despite being short lived. If he was smart about it, he supposed he wouldn’t mind doing it again. Moomin did say he lived far from where they met, but Snufkin doubts that would be a problem. If he does return, Snufkin will invite Moomin to stay a while. 

A long while, Snufkin admits. 

Just him…nobody else?

Snufkin frowned. Of course the spirits would choose now to invade his thoughts. 

You are troubled by something…tell us…

Might as well. I met somebody today…

Oh? Means there’s a place nearby…souls to corrupt and harvest…

Snufkin paused. Perhaps not this town. Actually, it isn’t even a town. 

Did your friend tell you this?

I wouldn’t say he’s a friend, but he does interest me. He smiled grimly. I’d like to toy with him for a while if you don’t mind… He wasn’t asking for permission. Though the spirits and him have a pact, Snufkin will do as he pleases as is the nature of a mumrik. 

He can find another place to offer up to the spirits. One that has more than a handful of people. 

So long as this game of cat and mouse doesn’t distract you deary… 

Snufkin couldn’t see them, not in this time and space, but he knew the spirits were laughing. The hairs on the back of his neck were raised. Do you know something I don’t?

His question went unanswered. 

We sense you were worried about something…something that’s left you…confused?

Snufkin nodded. Yes, there is something I need to show you. I don’t know what it means and-

WAIT!

Snufkin flinched at the sudden shout of multiple voices, combined with a burst of caution and anger.

What is it? If Snufkin hadn’t known any better he’d have thought the wind was hissing.

Somebody approaches…

Be mindful…

Watch your step…

Snufkin turned back in the direction he had come from. He kept the knife at his side, gripping it in a calm, focused hand. He didn’t have to wait long to see who it was that had the spirits in a tizzy.

A young girl, perched on the handle of a broom stick, came descending over the tree line. She was dressed in dull grays, with only her bright auburn hair flashing noticeably in the sunlight. As she came closer, Snufkin saw that her eyes were like the eclipse if the eclipse had a red ring of light. 

Huh, Snufkin thought, a witch. 

The witch stopped at arms reach from Snufkin. She didn’t come down from her broom. She turned so that she was sitting sideways, her boots barely scraping along the grass. She made sure she was adjusted before turning her attention on Snufkin. 

Her stare could level a hundred acre of wood. 

Snufkin, unfazed, asked, “Who are you now?”

“Alicia. You don’t seem surprised to see me.” 

“You’re not the strangest creature I’ve run into.” Snufkin smiled. “Though, given what you are, you’re no stranger to that.”

Something akin to a smile threatened to cross Alicia’s face. “No, I’m not and neither are you, mumrik. Aren’t you going to greet me properly, one pact dealer to another?”

Snufkin bowed a little bow. “My apologies. Sometimes I forget myself.” 

“Now you’re just patronizing me.” Alicia smiled, but it was distant and unwelcoming. “What are you doing in my neck of the woods mumrik?”

“My name is Snufkin and I don’t tell my secrets to anyone.”

“Smart choice. You’d be surprised how many would make that mistake.”

“No, I wouldn’t be. I don’t even have to try honestly.”

“Oh, a mumrik whose honest? Well now I know everything.” Alicia grinned a full grin. “You don’t really have to tell me what your business is though. I know a mumriks’ nature.” 

Snufkin cocked his head to the side. “Do you now?”

Alicia only graced him with a nod.

“Well, since you already know my nature, what’s your business here?” Snufkin teased halfheartedly. She wasn’t annoying, but he did have other priorities right now.

The smile vanished, but Alicia remained at ease. Yes, she knew about mumriks and the bad omens they wrought, but she had no fear of them. “I have no qualms with you. It wouldn’t do to quarrel with those who have pacts with spirits. Even amongst one another. I only asked that you stay out of my territory.”

“Telling a mumrik what not to do is a waste of breathe you know.” 

“Mhm, but you’re not a full blooded mumrik.” Alicia’s eyes narrowed with knowing glee. “I see that you are also part mymble. What a unique union and one I didn’t think was compatible enough to produce an offspring.” 

Snufkin paused, really taking in the witch before him. “Your pact with the spirits…was it to obtain those eyes of yours?” 

Alicia simply tapped the corner of one eye, smirking a tiny bit.

Snufkin thought this new information over. Had Alicia been a mage or some other sorceress she wouldn’t have made such a deal with the spirits. She could possess some useful information.

Snufkin nodded. “Very well, Alicia. I will not bring trouble to your territory, but on one condition.”

Alicia eyed him, mildly suspicious. “What is your condition?”

“You teach me dark magic.”

“Deal,” Alicia said. The rest of the world can go to Hell so long as Alicia’s solitude isn’t intruded on. She held out a hand. “Swear it to the spirits and the Devil.”

Snufkin shook her hand. “I swear it to the spirits and the Devil.”

The handshake was quick and affirmative. 

Alicia gave one last nod and said, “I’ll be seeing you around then Snufkin.” She was off before getting a response, her figure soaring back over the tree line and vanishing from sight. 

Snufkin watched her go and snorted. Cute kid, he thought, Now then... Returning to the matter at hand, he asked the spirits, What do these runes mean?


	6. Spy

Moomin woke up.

For a moment, the fogginess that had blanketed his mind left him dazed and confused. In that split second, he had no recollection of where he’s been, what he had been doing, and where he was currently. Tentatively, Moomin rubbed the side of his face, his brow drawn in concentration.

Moominpappa’s voice broke through the haze.

“Moomin, where on Earth have you been?”

Moomin jumped. He quickly realized he was on the veranda, one of his hands reaching for the door. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Moominpappa sitting at the table, cup of coffee in hand and eyeing Moomin.

Moomin mentally shook his startled nerves away before facing his papa. He plastered on a smile that he hoped was harmless and not a hint to the lies he was going tell.

“Good morning Papa! I’m sorry to have worried you. I had woken up early and thought today would be a good day to take a short hike through the woods.”

Moominpappa raised a brow. “You were gone so long that you missed breakfast.”

Moomin’s smile faltered, but it didn’t break. “I may have lost track of time.” He thought a moment before adding, “I can go help clear the table though.”

Moominpappa nodded. “Good; we had the Fillyjonk kids drop by suddenly.” 

“Did they? Alone?”

“Yes, they said you told them to come by and that you would let their mother know where they were.”

Moomin’s stomach threatened to do a backflip. “I spotted them by the police station. Mrs. Fillyjonk was inside concerning the police inspector about something. I invited the kids over to spare them that nasty business. You know how their mother is.”

Moominpappa frowned, troubled. “What did I tell you about snooping around other people’s business?”

Moomin flinched. “It twists your soul into a knot.” The urge to bite his cuticles came suddenly and persistently. “I just meant that I was trying to do the neighborly thing.” Mrs. Fillyjonk could go jump off a cliff but Moomin did hold a soft spot for her kids. Moomin always did his best to get them to smile. 

Moominpappa took a swig of his coffee. “Did you tell Mrs. Fillyjonk about her children’s whereabouts?”

Moomin sighed. “No, she was taking too long.”

Moominpappa’s frown turned into a scowl. “Making commitments only to go back on them is a telltale sign of thoughtlessness and selfishness.” 

Moomin weakly wrapped his arms around him. “Did she…come by already?”

“She did and she brought a kind of scorn fitting for a layer in Hell. That woman has quite the pipes on her.”

“I’m sorry Papa.” Moomin hadn’t meant to set Mrs. Fillyjonk’s wrath upon his parents’ home. Perhaps if he hadn’t been caught up in his reckless abandonment…

Moominpappa gave another nod, still scowling. “You will help plant her new brushes.”

“Yes, Papa,” Moomin answered, barely above a whisper. He turned to enter the house but his papa called his name once more.

“Moomin.”

Moomin turned and, with reluctance, faced his papa. “Yes?”

Moominpappa stared long and hard at Moomin. He knew something weighed on his son’s mind, the young troll’s body language betraying him. Things haven’t been the same between them for some time and …well, it was no mater.

The past was the past and nothing could change it.

Moominpappa shoved these nagging thoughts away. Something like concern replaced his scowl as he said, “Mrs. Fillyjonk said she’s seen you heading into the woods a lot lately.” 

Moomin felt a burning irritation. “I…have been. It’s quiet and peaceful.”

“Hm, it is,” Moominpappa agreed, “but the woods are deceiving and full of unfriendly creatures. I had rather you told me or your mama where you were going all this time.” He paused before adding, “You’re not to go into the woods anymore, understood?”

“No!” The word was out before Moomin could stop himself. The silence that followed was thick. The dark look that Moomin’s papa shot him made Moomin recoiled as though slapped.

“Go help clear the table and head over to Mrs. Fillyjonk.” Moominpappa’s tone was firm and edged with anger.

Moomin sighed. “Yes, Papa,” he mumbled before finally heading inside.

…

The afternoon gave way to evening and the evening gave way to dusk. The blue sky melted into golden pink before the deeply sewn blue of night. A gentle, caressing breeze ruffled the tree tops while birds tittered their last song of the day.

On the veranda sat Moominpappa, gazing out across the lawn and towards the woods. His posture was rigid as a stone wall and his stare was fixed on something unseen. It was as though he were waiting for something.

What that was, Moomintroll couldn’t possibly know. All the child knew was that something was bothering his papa and when his papa was in a sour mood, well…

Moomintroll stood in the doorway, trying to decide whether or not to go to the older troll. He stared down at the tea cup his mama had given him. Her words, underlined with stress that even six year old Moomin could pick up on, echoed in his mind.

“You know how your papa gets on nights like tonight.”

Moomin did know. He shoved aside any uneasy feelings in the pit of his stomach and ventured to the other.

Moominpappa, picking up on the quiet creaks of the decking, turned his gaze towards the young boy. Moomin stood beside him, hesitating at the all too familiar restless look in his papa’s eyes.

Moominpappa waited, his expression softening only a fraction. “Moomin…”

Moomin, smiled weakly. He held the cup up, averting his eyes to the floorboards. They suddenly seemed more interesting. “Mama made you some tea.”

Moominpappa smiled but it was stiff and didn’t reach his eyes. When he took the cup, Moomin’s small hands were enveloped in his papa’s larger ones. In that brief moment Moomin noticed just how callous and hardened they were.

Moominpappa downed the tea. Swallowing, he turned to Moomin, handed him back the now empty cup, and said, “Thank you.”

Moomin, taking the cup, simply said, “Oh…kay.”

With that, Moomin’s papa looked towards where the property line ended and a vast woodland began. Moomin felt something twist uncomfortably in his gut as the iron glower returned to Moominpappa’s face.

“Shouldn’t you go help your mama with the dishes?” Moominpappa’s voice cut through the silence like a knife to the heart. It wasn’t an inquiry nor suggestion.

Moomin shuffled. He turned to do as he was told but stopped. Before he could reconsider, as young children are incapable of such things, the next thing he said came tumbling out in a flurry.

“What’s wrong Papa?”

Moominpappa didn’t answer. When Moomin looked, he saw Moominpappa staring at him with an unrecognizable glint. It would be a couple years or so before Moomin would know that look to mean trouble.

Moomin found it hard to keep eye contact. Though he didn’t have the words, he knew that he was treading on a line he shouldn’t be. Feeling his papa’s eyes burn into him, the young troll found comfort in twisting his tail between his paws.

When his papa finally did speak, it was low and cautious. “Everything is fine. Just got lost in thought.”

“Oh.” Moomin didn’t press any further and still felt all the more worse for it.

Moominpappa eyed his son as he fumbled with his tail. He pondered whether or not to tell Moomin that his tail’s end would go bald if he kept that habit up. Before the thought could finish though, he decided against it. It was too late for lectures. It can wait tomorrow morning.

Writing a good, long essay on why it’s bad to pick and twist at one’s own tail will set that right.

Moomin stiffened when he felt a large hand rest on his head. He straightened, looking to meet his papa’s gaze once more. Moominpappa smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling, as he ruffled his son’s tufts of fur.

“Go help your mama and then head to bed. It’s getting late.” With that, Moominpappa retracted his hand and turned away.

Moomin didn’t reply outside of his retreating footsteps. He stood in the foyer, replaying what just happened in his mind. Curiously, he ran his fingers through where his papa’s just were.

Already, Moomin could feel the moment fade away, becoming nothing more then a memory or something akin to wishful thinking.

…

The night was cold and rained relentlessly down upon their heads as they scurried through the woods. As they neared a break in the thicket, she lost her footing and slipped onto her knees. Her yellow slicker’s hood blew off her heard, not that it was doing her much good.

The two of them could barely make out anything in the downpour. Had it not been for her brother’s assurance, the young girl would be afraid and confused. Her brother had explained, in his curt way, that they were going to be visiting some kind folks he knows.

As she was pulled to her feet, she recalled asking him why it couldn’t wait. He had responded, rather impatiently, that it couldn’t wait as the people were very fastidious about plans. The visit had been planned today and they were going to follow through regardless of Mother Nature’s qualms.

So here they were, ankle deep in mud with their fur matted and weighing like bricks. She’d cry, as eight year olds are want to do in these situations, but couldn’t bring herself to feel much of anything outside exhaustion.

Finally, her brother seemed to have gotten his bearings. He scooped her up under his arms and started jogging. The girl didn’t protest. In a matter of moments, she could hear his footsteps running along the wooden planks of a bridge. The next thing she knew she was placed back on her feet and her brother was knocking on the front door of a house.

The girl only had time to look around for a brief moment before the two of them were ushered inside. In that moment, she could tell that the house was huge.

In the foyer, her and her brother were greeted by a soft spoken troll. When the girl’s eyes met the stranger’s, the troll let slip a small smile.

The girl thought she looked sad.

“Good morning Snork,” the lady troll greeted, “I’m so glad you could make it on time. Moominpappa and I thought you weren’t going to come today due to this rain.”

Snork nodded. “Of course I would come Moominmamma. Today was the agreed upon date after all.”

“Mm,” Moominmamma turned her attention back on the girl. “This must be Snorkmaiden then. How do you do sweetheart?”

Snorkmaiden, suddenly feeling awkward and very aware of getting the floors wet, said quietly, “Hi.”

As if sensing her mini distress, Moominmamma reached out her hands. “Let me take your coat honey. You must be so cold and miserable.”

Snorkmaiden answered by taking her slicker off and handing it to Moominmamma. She winced as heavy droplets of water stained the floorboards. She also noticed that the small, sad smile never left the older troll’s lips.

Snorkmaiden felt increasingly out of place. She tried distracting herself, looking around at the foyer. The front hall was welcoming enough and certainly clean, but something felt off. Snorkmaiden couldn’t put her finger on why that was though.

Wrong…

Moominmamma’s voice sliced through her thoughts. “Come along into the kitchen dearies. Moominpappa will be down and we can get this matter settled.”

As they entered the kitchen Snorkmaiden gave her brother a questioning look.

Snork didn’t look at her.

…

Snorkmaiden watched from her bedroom window, frowning. Moomin darted across the yard and over the fields that laid just to the right side of the house. She nervously twisted the fur on her chest and mumbled a curse under her breath.

The sound of her door opening caught her attention. Standing in the doorway was Sniff. He was a tall, lanky boy with neatly groomed brown fur. He wrung his hands together. He kept opening and closing his mouth as though he had something to say, but didn’t know whether or not he should say it.

Snorkmaiden sighed. “What is it?” Why does he always look so fidgety?

“Are you busy?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.” Sniff shifted from foot to foot. “Moomintroll is gone you know.”

“I do.”

“He’s going over to help Mrs. Fillyjonk.”

“I know. I was there.”

“So he’ll probably be gone for a long while, even more so when he gets done.”

Snorkmaiden’s heart plummeted a bit, but she wasn’t surprised. The troll had made it a routine to go off on his own for however long he wanted. It had only worsen when, just before hibernation, his parents had told the two younger trolls they were arranged to get married. The marriage was to happen within the next year or two.

The news had elated her, but for him…his smile may have fooled his parents but not her. She knew what a dying smile looked like. 

Snorkmaiden quickly rubbed her eyes dry.

Sniff didn’t miss this. “So let’s go follow him.”

…

Truth be told, Snorkmaiden thought, spying on Moomin from inside a bush wasn’t the greatest idea. This heat is messing up my fur and I feel an itch in my side that won’t go away.

A sudden sneeze had the young maiden troll almost scream. She shot Sniff a look that could turn a person to stone. The rat puppy could only cringed, both from her glare and for his stupidity.

“Sorry,” he stuttered in a whisper.

Snorkmaiden smiled crookedly. “I swear to whoever is upstairs running this show, Sniff, if you give us away-”

“I had to sneeze. What, I can’t do that now?”

“Shut up, just shut up already.”

“Whatever,” Sniff muttered, “Why are we even here? Moomin is just fixing up Fillyjonk’s weeds and then will disappear to God only knows where.”

Snorkmaiden scowled. “That’s exactly why we’re here. Well, I am anyway.” She went silent for a moment before continuing. “He’s been so, I don’ know…distant? He’s hardly ever around and when he is he’s hiding away in his room. He never talks and when you do he just responds as briefly as he can.”

Sniff stared, a worried look crossing his brow. It made him look older then he was. “I’m not here because I’m just being curious you know.” He shifted on his knees, suddenly feeling anxious and uncomfortable. “I knew him longer then you.”

“Barely.” She didn’t say this unkindly.

Sniff shook his head. “I was dropped here when I was still practically a baby. I hardly remember what my parents even look like and with nobody else around….”He didn’t bother to finish.

Snorkmaiden flushed guiltily. “Oh…that’s right.”

“Do you think the reason why Moomin isn’t around as much is because he…”

Snorkmiaden’s ear flicked. “Because why?” she gently but insistently pressed.

Sniff’s eyes widened and he grabbed onto her. The motion was so sudden that she did utter a sharp gasp.

“What’s wrong with you now?” she hissed between clenched teeth.

Sniff hunched down, further then he already was. “There’s someone else there.”

Snorkmaiden resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “It’s probably Mrs. Fillyjonk or her-”

“No,” Sniff’s harsh response had her quieted instantly, “it isn’t.” He gripped the sides of her head with both of his paws, directing her line of sight. “Do you see them now?”

Snorkmaiden decided to entertain Sniff’s concern and looked. She was looking across the backyard and at first her eyes focused on Moomin, who was just finishing digging a spot for the new bushes. She was about to tell Sniff off for trying to get a scare out of her when she noticed it.

Its’ movement was subtle. Snorkmaiden almost believed her eyes were playing tricks on her. In the sunlight, surrounded by the foliage of the woods, she could just make out the outline of a figure. No facial features could be identified, hidden under the brim of a wide hat. It truly looked like the person, creature, was nothing but a shadow. 

Until the place where its’ mouth should be split opened to reveal a grin of sharp teeth.

Snorkmaiden felt her heart leap into her throat. She struggled to catch her breath, barely whispering the question, “What is that?”

“I don’t know.”

“What are we going to do?”

“Are you dense woman? We’re not going to do anything!” Sniff’s reply was so erratic that Snorkmaiden was surprised she understood him at all.

Snorkmaiden’s gaze darted between Moomin, the shape, and Sniff. Sniff immediately caught on to what she must have been thinking.

He was thinking the same thing, but damn it!

“Look,” he said, slowly, “if we do anything sudden or stupid, well…we don’t know what they will do in turn.”

“That’s true but, what about Moomin?”

“Um,” Sniff stared out into the backyard, “I think there isn’t much we can do right now. Besides, we don’t know if they’re dangerous. They could simply be…um, curious?”

“You’re just being a coward.”

Sniff grimaced. “No, at least not entirely. I just meant that-”

He never got to finish what he had meant though. A slow, dreamlike tune drifted over to where they were squatting. It was soft and though it pierced the lolling silence, it wasn’t a nuisance. If the two little spies had to describe it, they’d say it sounded like a comforting lullaby.

Snorkmaiden yawned, her eye lids drooping. “Hey Sniff?” Why does her voice sound so drowsy?

Snorkmaiden felt rather then saw Sniff shudder, letting out a yawn of his own. “What?” His sleepy voice responded.

“What was that…about them not being dangerous?”

Sniff, groaning, barely awake now, “Yeah?”

“You’re such… an idiot.”

“…I …know.”

Just like that, the two fell into a dreamless sleep.

…

Snufkin liked to pride himself in a successful endeavor, no matter how small it may be. The reward that’s granted is always so gratifying. 

Like now, for instance; charming Moomin into a complacent state was easy. The troll had stopped what he was doing, immediately standing and walking to him. Snufkin ceased playing the violin as the troll came to a stop before him. With the snap of his fingers, the instrument vanished, leaving his hands free.

As the music went dead, Moomin, semiconscious, smiled a small smile, his eyes still half lidded.

“Oh…hello Snufkin,” was the only thing Moomin could say before slipping to sleep.

Snufkin, stretching his hands further out, caught the troll. Humming, he adjusted Moomin so that the unconscious troll was held bridal style, head resting just under Snufkin’s chin.

With his humming turning into whistling, Snufkin turned on his heel and strolled back into the woods.

The reward is indeed sweet.


	7. Camp

Snufkin’s campsite was a little area, far from where he and Moomin met. His tent was set up and he had gotten a fire going. Though it couldn’t have been any later than the afternoon, the part of the woods he had settled down in was covered in shadows. It left the area almost in complete darkness.

It made for a very isolated, quiet place; perfect for a little alone time.

Snufkin leaned against the log and looked over at Moomin. The troll was fast asleep, curled up on his side and appearing very comfortable under the blanket Snufkin placed over him.

The mumrik thought back to his and the spirits’ conversation.

…

When Snufkin brandished the knife to them, asking what the runes meant, the spirits were intrigued.

These runes are very unusual….

Snufkin waited for them to continue. When they didn’t, he spoke instead. “So you can’t make out what they mean?”

The spirits hissed in contemplation. Not what we meant…

We know what these runes mean, of course, we do…

We’re very old after all…

Snufkin nods politely. “Then what’s the problem?”

The life of this troll…Moomin? It’s very contradictory…

We see him living a full life…

But we see death in his future…

“I would think so,” Snufkin interjected, “All life comes to an end eventually.”

Very true, but….

Perhaps it means he’ll be surrounded by it?

That could be the loss inscription too…

We also see hopelessness, pain, loneliness…

Silent, suffocation, anxiety, shame…

Such a sad little thing he is…

Snufkin took this information in, humming and mulling it over. “You said the runes contradicted each other, but what you just said indicates otherwise.”

We weren’t done…

Patience dear one…

There’s also a good deal of loyalty, devotion, adoration…

Love…

Snufkin’s brow raised at that last one. Love had been lacking in his life up until a few years ago when he reunited with his family. Prior to this, he had been deprived of it from the time he first began walking. Even now it was taking a while for him to readjust to the concept of it! 

Besides, mumriks were not looked upon kindly. He supposes it was for good reasons considering what he’s been doing.

There was also that incident in-

The wind picked up and seemed to caress Snufkin’s cheek, bringing the young creature out of his thoughts.

What troubles you, dear?

Snufkin shook his head. “Nothing, just remembering some bad memories. Could really do without them.” He looks at the handle of the knife. “These runes will disappear?”

Of course…

It’s like with all the others…

It’s likely due to how scrambled the inscription is that’s making it take so long…

Snufkin nods, perhaps a bit too quickly. The sooner the subject changed the better. “So he’s loyal is he?”

Oh yes…

Very much so…

Almost to a fault even…

Snufkin kept his eyes trained on the runes. At last, they began to disappear. When the handle was barren, a sharp tooth smile etched its way across his face.

“I think I’d like to have a loyal little pet.”

…

Snufkin smirks, amused. Right, a little pet that’s here at your beck and call does seem appealing the more he thought about it. As a plus, the troll is rather cute. If he had to pick a word to describe Moomin, Snufkin would pick ‘rabbit.’ the troll had a lovely pelt and had the ears to match such a descriptor.

The mumrik reaches over and gently scratches one of the ears. Moomin, in his sleep, snorts and flicks his ear. He curled up tighter, mumbling sleepily.

Snufkin smirked a little more at that. Definitely a rabbit or even bunny.

It’ll be entertaining, watching this sweet creature become corrupted.

Snufkin settles back against the log, contemplating what he’s to do now. Of course, he isn’t all that sweet, is he? He was willing to help set fire to that station, even offered me the kindling.

The mumrik was brought out of his thoughtful revenue by the troll waking. Moomin was sitting up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. His blue eyes met Snufkin’s dark ones, blinking in surprise.

“Oh, hello again Snufkin.”

Snufkin tips his hat at the troll. “Moomintroll.”

Moomin sits up fully, still keeping the blanket wrapped around him. He looks around at the campsite. “This is your campgrounds then?”

“Very perceptive of you,” Snufkin remarks, humored.

Moomin scowls but only half halfheartedly. “Still an ass hole are you?”

“Depends; is the sky still blue?”

Moomin huffs, smirking. “Don’t know. It’s rather dark in these parts of the woods.”

“Yes and very private.” He takes out his knife and begins sharpening his claws on it. “I don’t care much for crowded spaces or overly populated villas, towns, what have you.”

Moomin scoots a little closer to the mumrik. He leaves a significant amount of space between them, keeping what the mumrik said in mind. “It is rather peaceful out here,” he agrees, quietly.

Snufkin glances at Moomin. “You’re not afraid? It’s quite dark and nobody is around to hear you screaming for help.”

Moomin looks at Snufkin sharpening his nails. The skin beneath his fur prickled a little, though he isn’t sure if it was due to worry or thrill. “Are you going to hurt me?”

Snufkin stops and really looks at Moomin. The troll doesn’t seem too fazed by the potential danger he was in. After a moment, the mumrik answered, “No, that would be a waste.”

Moomin tilts his head, a little confused and curious. “Why?”

Snufkin chuckles a little. “Why question it? Do you want me to?”

Moomin shrugs. “Then why am I here?” He looked at the knife and, after some hesitation, asks, “What did those runes say?”

Snufkin didn’t answer for a good minute or two. It left Moomin feeling impatient but otherwise quiet. Finally, the mumrik said, “Are you lonely Moomin?”

Moomin’s breath caught in his throat and he looked elsewhere. His sight settled on the woods across from them. He bit his bottom lip, thinking on how to respond.

“Doesn’t everyone get lonely?”

Snufkin thinks about it. He shrugs. “Depends on the creature I suppose. Mumriks are pretty solitary by nature.”

Moomin perks up a bit. “That’s what you are then? A mumrik?”

Snufkin’s eyes seem to bare into the troll’s. “Have you never seen one? Yes, I am.”

Moomin picks at the grass. He doesn’t seem to notice Snufkin’s gaze. “I haven’t but my papa…” he frowns.

Snufkin’s brow furrowed a little, but waits patiently, crossing his leg over the other.

Moomin sighs. “What are mumriks really like?”

Snufkin blinks, a little surprised at how quickly the conversation changed. “As I said, mumriks are solitary and prefer traveling than staying in one place for an extended period of time.”

“Oh, so they wouldn’t settle down and marry then?” The question was abrupt and Snufkin could sense there was something more to it.

Snufkin paused. “Not in the traditional sense, no.”

Moomin sighs and lies against the log. He had a faraway look on his face. “I’m expected to get married soon.”

Snufkin couldn’t help but laugh. “Who’s the lucky maiden?”

Moomin grimaces. “A childhood friend of mine. She’s sweet and passive, everything my parents would want in a wife for me.”

“There’s a big ‘but’ coming up isn’t there.”

Moomin swallows. “I…I just don’t… at least not like that…” He feels guilt at having admitted to feeling dissatisfied.

Snufkin waits for him to continue. “And?”

Moomin turns to Snufkin. “I’m bored.”

“I could tell. Not many people who just met me would willingly go along with arson.”

Moomin doesn’t laugh. “The valley I live in is too quiet, too peaceful. It’s driving me mental!”

“You said it was quiet out here too.”

“Yes, but there isn’t anyone telling you what not to do or that isn’t acceptable behavior. Out here, I can do whatever I damn well please and won’t be punished or nagged for it.”

Snufkin blows the dust off his nails, smiling in amusement. It was cute how enthusiastic the troll was. “Such as eating woodland creatures?”

Moomin snorts. “Well, I do like hunting. What, do mumriks not hunt?”

Snufkin smiles widely. “Oh yes, we do. We’re rather good at hunting. In fact, once we set our eyes on something we are relentless in our pursuit.”

Moomin smirks. “You should come hunting with me when you feel like it then. I’d like to see what a mumrik can do.”

Snufkin considers the proposal. “Perhaps I shall.” He meant it. This was turning out to be a fun time. He found it very easy to talk to this troll. Heck, he was taken aback by the fact he didn’t want to strangle him!

Moomin smiled brightly, tail wagging. After a moment of comfortable silence, he spoke again. “Why am I here Snufkin?”

Snufkin leans into Moomin’s personal space, turning on his side and propping his head in the palm of his paw. “Just to talk and keep me company,” he says, a playful smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Moomin stares. “Really? After telling me about enjoying the privacy and isolation.”

Snufkin shrugs. “I’m not a full-blooded mumrik my dear Moomin. And besides, even if I was,” he gently pokes the space between Moomin’s eyes, “I do what I bloody well please.”

Moomin snorts. “Oh, so what are you then? Your other half I mean.”

“Now, now, don’t want to spoil all my secrets.”

Moomin falls quiet. He traces circles along the log’s surface. “My papa told me stories about mumriks,” he says softly. His brow was drawn in conflicted emotions.

Snufkin leans closer. “What did he tell you?” he implores, his own questioning side coming out.

Moomin doesn’t respond. His face had a distressed grimace.

Snufkin frowns. “Moomin?”

Moomin blinks, shaking his head. He laughs shakily. “Ah, tell me about yourself a little at least Snufkin. You travel a lot. What can you tell me about the world?”

Snufkin does, his suspicion remaining. “I’ve been all over the place. Some of these places had names, others none. The people, however, are another matter. Each creature has their little ticks and figuring out how they work is a fun little game of mine.”

Moomin listened intently as Snufkin begins telling about his experiences with people. These stories were only half-truths though, no need to give away too much. The troll was absolutely intrigued all the same though, despite picking up on these missing details.

When Snufkin finished, the two sat there in silence. The woodland around them was eerily still. After a moment or two, Moomin broke it.

“How did you do that?”

Snufkin looks at him quizzically. “How did I do what?”

“You know, that thing where you made me go away? Oh, and what about that thing you did to get me here now?” His tone of voice wasn’t accusatory, just curious.

Snufkin chuckles lowly. “That’s a secret, my dear Moomintroll.”

Moomin’s tail flicks. He feels his heart rate spike a bit at being referred to as “dear.” He lets out a half annoyed huff. “Fine, keep your secrets.”

Snufkin bites back a laugh. He hums a playful tune before saying, “Alright, one secret then.”

Moomin looks at him, waiting.

Snufkin smiles, revealing his sharp, long canines. “I’ll show you how a mumrik hunts.”


	8. Job

Moominmamma was scrubbing away at the floorboards in the front hall when Moominpappa came downstairs. She was muttering under her breath and though it was hard to hear what exactly, the general gist was ‘not enough.’

Moominpappa frowned and gently tapped his wife on the back. She looks up at him, her tired expression switching to a more joyful expression. The tightness at the corner of her lips was a dead give away to how forced it was though. Still, she mustered up a positive tone.

“Hello dear, finish writing for the day?”

Moominpappa looks proud of himself, smiling and nodding. “For the time being. Where are the kids?”

Moominmamma gets to her feet, humming. “Oh, around I suppose.” She heads to the kitchen.

Moominpappa follows. “You suppose?”

Moominmamma pours the used water down the sink’s drain. “They went outside some hours ago. Haven’t heard or seen them since.” she catches her husband’s frown. “I’m sure they’re ok, dear. You talked to Moomintroll?”

Moominpappa huffs. “Yes, I did.” He takes a seat at the kitchen table. “He’s been out in the woods all this time.”

Moominmamma turns, looking worried now. “Has he now?”

Moominpappa nods. “Yup told him not to do that anymore. I warned him of the dangerous creatures that lurk in them.”

Moominmamma dries her paws off on the hand towel. “I don’t want my baby getting snatched dear.” There was an uncharacteristic firmness and a look to match. It came and went in a second, but it had been clear enough.

Moominpappa is silent before responding. “You know I won’t let that happen.” His own voice was low, almost dangerously so. “That’s my duty as the husband and father of this family.”

Moominmamma smiles brightly, returning to her warm, positive nature. It was one of the things that drew him in. She turns around to the sink and began washing her paws, scrubbing harshly at them under the hot water. “Good, good. I will try not to worry then.”

Moominpappa comes up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist, nuzzling her neck. She sighs almost happily at the affection. The two looked at each other for just a moment before Moominpappa pulls back abruptly, letting out a slow breath.

“Right, there’s much to do, much to write about.” He turns and leaves his wife alone in the kitchen.

Moominmamma watches him leave before turning back to the sink. She felt the skin beneath her fur irritated and resumed scrubbing at her paws.

Moominpappa had just started going back upstairs when a knock came at the front door. He grumbles, agitated even more now, as he nears the door. He puts on his best patient smile before opening the door.

Mrs. Fillyjonk stands there, her foot tapping against the deck at a hundred miles an hour. Her paws were on her hips as she stares at the troll. She looked as though she had been sucking on a lemon for the past hour.

Moominpappa felt the vein in his head throb. “Hello, Mrs. Fillyjonk what can I do you for?”

The insufferable woman went into a tangent, exclaiming and shrieking how Moomintroll up and vanished into the woods, how she would have confronted him were it not for the fact she passed out in her kitchen. When she came to, the boy was gone and those other two children were running into the woods.

“Tell that boy of yours-”

Moominpappa didn’t want to hear anymore. “Good day Mrs. Fillyjonk.” He slams the door in her face. On the other side of the door, Fillyjonk continues to holler and rave at the inconsideration of it all.

Moominpappa goes upstairs and enters his study. Hanging on the wall was his musket, looking polished and dusted with care. He takes this down carefully before moving over to his desk. After rummaging around his drawers for a minute or two, he finds what he’s looking for and loads the musket up.

“That’s right,” he says, standing, “this is all just part of my job.”


End file.
